Of Angels, Devils, and Royalty
by The Canadian Ninja
Summary: After all these years, Karel finally realized what he was doing wrong.


In Sacae, the swordfighters and archers had different views on such a simple matter as hair. The archers, save the women, who kept it long regardless, would keep their hair short to ensure nothing got in their face to distract them from a shot. The swordfighters, however, eschewed practicality in favor of a much more symbolic approach. To them, length of hair was a direct correlation to skill and knowledge of the blade. Heads were shaved as young Sacaens chose to take up the sword; as time passed and the hair regrew, it was only natural that they would be better. It was a mark of pride to them. Training bouts were not directed at the body, but rather at their pride; the objective of these bouts was to be the first to cut a significant amount of hair from their opponent. 

Because of this tradition, it was very easy to those knowledgeable of the pasttime to pick off the finest swordmasters of the day. However, even without knowing, it was still relatively simple from the awe-inspiring stories passed around at taverns. One of these three, the Saint of Swords, combined the practicality of the archers with the pride of the sword, braiding his hair and wearing a headband to ensure it never got in his way. Both he and the Sword Princess wore their hair halfway down their back; most other talented swordfighters only had it around their shoulders at best.

But not the best. The Sword Demon was still alive and killing, and _his_ hair was long enough to brush against his knees. There wasn't a single Sacaen alive who would challenge the sheer might and skill of the Sword Demon.

Karel smiled. At least, not anymore. The so-called Saint of Swords, the fighter who was renowned for having such a flawless form, was dead on the ground, a clean gash across his throat. The pup's boasts a year ago still weren't substantial enough to even scratch him; Karel was certain that he trained him better than _that_. He remembered those words. "I will be stronger. I will beat you." What foolishness. His sword, covered in blood cooling in the night air, reached for his head. One slight flick of the wrist and his sword shot by his face, slicing his braid off. He bent over, pocketed it, and left him for hunters or beasts to find the next morning; he didn't particularly care which.

A few months later, he heard the news that his sister's health was getting worse. News of his sister was never good these days, of course. He debated going back to her for a few minutes before conceding; he remembered more of his life when she spoke to him. His life was more than his day-to-day existence, it was a multitude of past events that led him where he was now. His memories from before he held his family's blood-red Wo Dao. Upon merely hearing of her, he felt happier. He could actually ignore his thirst for blood and he didn't know why.

However, when he returned to the scarlet plains, Karla's health had deteriorated rapidly. As soon as she saw him, though, she looked as radiant as she did when fighting Nergal the past year. Something about his presence gave her the strength to carry on. He didn't know why. However, he was not one to hold her hand until she died, and he knew that she was aware of that. He was there simply so she could see him and hear his voice one last time before death enveloped her senses. At the time, Karel's only thought was how the world was losing one of the finest swordmasters around.

Another week after she had died, Karel still thought about her. She was the only one who would unlock the memories of his past. Without her, the earliest memory he had was when he slaughtered his family, leaving the weak Karla alone. Would it be long before he resumed his life of bloodshed? Wasn't it this lack of family that he wanted; to have no competition for this sword? Why, then, did it feel so... so empty? He may have thrived in isolation, but now he was alone.

Oddly, his mind strayed to Guy. Now he had two examples in his mind of wasted potential in his mind. Sure, Guy spelled out his own doom with arrogance against the best... but did he have to kill him? Now that was a sobering thought; was he only the best because he killed off the talent early? If that was the case, no wonder no fights were truly challenging. Absently, he pulled out the braid he had kept. The color had long faded, but the braid was still reasonably strong.

It was then that Karel had a revelation. The braid only looked like one long piece of hair, but it was more than that; it was three pieces continually interwoven between each other. If only one part of this braid were used, it would only be a third of the hair and not nearly enveloping the full deal. It was here that Karel realized that he was not the entire braid, as he would have thought, but only one part in an interwoven series. When he was around Karla, he remembered his past and calmed his bloodlust. When he taught Guy the ways of the sword, he felt more alive than ever, sensing the raw potential in his blade and forging it as he saw fit. Karel was not who he thought he was, he realized. He was wrapped up with Karla and Guy to the point that they were part of his life. But now, both were dead. One from illness, yet worse still, one from his sword. He was no longer the full braid, but only part of it.

He looked down at his sword, his famous blood red Wo Dao that had claimed more lives than he remembered. He recalled slashing Guy's throat in the heat of the moment, how he laughed at Guy's flawed form, how he proved his superiority. But Guy never killed for the sake of killing. He only sought to perfect his form to become the best. When the Saint of Swords struck down an opponent, it was merely an incapacitating blow. He would let them get up and try again, to try their skill again.

Karel mournfully realized what he was doing wrong all this time. Despite the comparative length of his hair, Guy was truly more skilled than he was. And so, the Sword Demon was found back at the grounds where he had slain Guy, digging a hole a few feet deep. Standing on the edge, he proclaimed, "I once was blind, but now I see. My supposed skill was nothing to be proud of; instead, it is only a mark of shame. I hereby let my hair loose so that I may start over from the right path." That said, he carefully shaved his head bald, letting his luxuriant black hair fall, covering the ground and coating the scarlet plains of his home. He took his recognized sword and placed it into the ground, barely fitting it into the hole. He slowly dropped his hair on top of it, covering the Wo Dao. Finally, he placed the remains of Guy's braid onto the hair, creating a sort of hierarchy of pride. That done, he shoveled the dirt back into the hole, burying his pride and shame at the same time.

As he left, he came to the conclusion that he could not live as the Sword Demon anymore; he would not allow himself to be driven by bloodlust again. While he was not interested in such a title, the thought came to him to name himself after his only student, the only one who, in his dark days, was able to best him in essence.

Thus, Karel was known around Elibe as the Sword Saint.


End file.
